


Yamibukiiro

by threewalls



Category: Yami No Matsuei
Genre: Anonymous Sex, Community: 30_lemons, M/M, Masturbation, Porn Magazines, Shinigami, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-04-06
Updated: 2005-04-06
Packaged: 2017-10-16 21:13:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/169411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/threewalls/pseuds/threewalls
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><cite>Beyond all that, Tatsumi found his eyes drawn again and again to the blond’s long hair. It was a bright, golden yellow, the colour of coin-- his favourite colour. </cite></p>
            </blockquote>





	Yamibukiiro

**Author's Note:**

> Written with thanks to lynndyre for beta and encouragement.

Sakimura Yuusuke left the mortal plane for his rightful spiritual existence at sixteen minutes past three o'clock in the afternoon, on the rooftop of the Chemistry building of Kyoto University. The date was the second of April, 1975, six days after Sakimura should have died falling from the aforementioned rooftop and nine days after Sakimura had received the results of what would then be his final, failed exam. University students made Tatsumi feel so old; Sakimura had been four months shy of his twenty-fourth birthday.

The case was routine. Sakimura had had second thoughts mid-descent and through sheer force of denial anchored himself to the spirit of the Chemistry building. The regrettable coincidence of a dragon line intersection beneath the building had further strengthened his position between planes, making his deviation a matter of interest for the Summoning Division.

Kirigoe-san of Area Six was an adequate investigator, but she currently lacked a partner. Exorcisms are easiest performed by a pair, one to steady the soul while the other encouraged it to the plane beyond. Tatsumi's secretarial workload was low, and so he had been assigned to assist Kirigoe-san to complete her case more efficiently. In fact, they had managed to corner Sakimura one day earlier than expected.

Tatsumi parted ways with Kirigoe-san at three-thirty. She had offered to accompany him back to his hotel, but he declined her kind offer. While he admired her work ethic, it was unnecessary for them to spend the evening writing up their mutual report. Her hotel was also in the opposite direction.

As it would have been inappropriate for him to join Kirigoe-san in her lodgings, Tatsumi had booked himself a room at a mid-price hotel in the same general region. He had been able to negotiate a discount as it was the middle of the week, three nights for the price of two as well as breakfast included. However, in light of their progress, it was uneconomical.

Tatsumi used the hotel's telephone to contact Konoe Kachou and explain about his poor judgement. Instead of the expected rebuke, Konoe Kachou laughed and told Tatsumi not to return to the office before eleven o'clock in the morning the next day.

And so, Tatsumi had returned to his hotel room, glanced at his packed suitcase and sat down on the bed to consider what he could do to pass the time.

Kirigoe-san had offered to show him the city before they parted, but Tatsumi felt that would have placed an unfair expectation upon her. Unlike Kannuki-san of Area Four, Kirigoe-san had died at an age closer to Tatsumi's own, though fourteen years more recently. They would look like a couple and Tatsumi felt the pretence to be in bad taste. Kirigoe-san made occasional mention of her lack of social partnership. Tatsumi did not wish to add to her distress.

Kyoto was an old city, something Tatsumi had seen even though Kirigoe-san's case had kept them within the more modern areas. He had last visited Kyoto for pleasure rather than business a few years after the Second World War. Several, though not all, of the tourist attractions he had visited in the company of his then partner were still open for business, but the visit itself had been prompted by a mistake Tatsumi did not enjoy dwelling upon.

His body, however, found no difficulty recalling his presumptuous behaviour through twenty-five years of memory. They had visited a bathhouse together. Tatsumi had looked, but not touched, not yet-- and so his memories of Kyoto in themselves were not tainted by Tsuzuki-san's tears, only Tatsumi's own futile longing.

Tatsumi took a very cold shower and left the hotel. He walked with no particular destination in mind, expanding his knowledge of the street formation around Kyoto University. Rather than waste his evening, Tatsumi could at least investigate cheap restaurants and lodgings in aid of future investigations.

Physical and mental exertion kerbed some of his unfortunate desires, until he accidentally stumbled upon an otherwise anonymous-looking shop whose discreet advertisements suggested that it catered to admirers of their own sex.

To his disquiet, Tatsumi felt his previous interest return with greater urgency. He walked on for several intersections, attempting to concentrate on his surroundings.

Bodies had been a common commodity during his life. Tatsumi had known of the reputation of the lesser (or greater, depending on one's interest) known theatres. The actors who performed the female roles were known for welcoming admirers’ gifts, and for bestowing their company in crude exchange. To use his mother’s money for such ends would have been unforgivable, but even following her death and following his own, it had not occurred to Tatsumi to pursue such ends. He had thought an anonymous coupling would be a poor substitute for emotional connection.

Tatsumi glanced across the street, chagrined to notice that he had become disoriented and walked a circular path. Once more, the shop was in his view and he found it difficult not to be curious. Emotional connection, while still his ideal, gave no guarantee of satisfaction. Perhaps it would be better to seek his pleasure through purchase, a simple transaction with transparent motives. Purchasing a stranger’s patience still did not appeal, but perhaps media of some description-- something that would hopefully return his objectivity to him.

Tatsumi used the cover of a nearby alleyway to shift into spirit form without being noticed. He was more familiar with using his shadow-powers to move unseen by mortals, but that required prior knowledge of the area he wished to enter.

The shop was one small room, quite dark, and filled with all manner of-- novelties, as they were apparently called. Tatsumi thought most looked dangerous to wear... or insert. Shockingly, the single shop assistant was a boy. No, he only seemed so to Tatsumi. No more than five years could have separated their apparent ages.

Most of the magazine titles mirrored the contents of the store, the most common combinations being of chain, rope or rubber. Many of the men wore leather, usually black, in anything from gloves to complete body coverage. Some titles seemed to involve the letting of blood, which Tatsumi dropped as soon as he noticed.

The overwhelming majority of men were naturally brunettes of various shades, either doe-eyed passive participants who looked uncomfortable, if not terrified, or active participants who looked so cruel or angry. Tatsumi found some of the men attractive, but felt disgusted at himself for not being more disturbed by their depicted actions.

Tatsumi felt old-fashioned to realise he had been hoping to find something that hinted at romance between the participants. To not even be able to find something that resembled pleasure made him feel ill. Perhaps the magazines' contents varied within their sealed plastic covers, but Tatsumi did not feel the possibility would be worth the investment, however small.

As Tatsumi made his way to the door, a flash of gold caught his eye.

By the register, there was a display for a rather amateur-looking publication with a reasonably low price. The blond gaijin on the cover was sitting back in a chair, legs spread to the width of his shoulders. He had glasses, a smug facial expression and seemingly equally satisfied bulge in his pants. (The pants seemed to be leather, but Tatsumi found without the obvious accoutrements of torture, he could find the way leather moulded to the man's lower body sensuous and appealing.)

Looking closer, Tatsumi realised the blond had to be half-gaijin at most, and then berated himself for the absurd, immediate sense of kinship he felt. The point of pornography was that Tatsumi did not have to take the blond's motives into account. Tatsumi stared at the cover, but could not see anything in the blond's printed expression besides confidence.

Beyond all that, Tatsumi found his eyes drawn again and again to the blond’s long hair. It was a bright, golden yellow, the colour of coin-- his favourite colour.

Tatsumi returned to the shop five minutes later, in corporeal form. The shop assistant eagerly explained that it was an in-house production, something unique that had been placed on sale that day. Within the magazine, the blond stripped and then caressed himself to completion-- though the shop assistant described it as something much more offensive. As a black market, low-scale publication, it was also uncensored. The model was a friend of a friend, or so the shop assistant said, meandering off into how students always need money.

Tatsumi paid for a copy of the magazine and left to avoid further exposure to the shop assistant's crudity. However hypocritical it was, Tatsumi did not enjoy being reminded that he was no less of a pervert. Once outside, Tatsumi walked to the alleyway and then directed his shadows to carry him back to his hotel room.

Inside the magazine, the pictures were black and white and much grainer than the cover. The first page contained a short biography. Yuki, 23, was a foreign exchange student studying human biology at Kyoto University. There followed a description of his preferred sexual acts, which made Tatsumi turn back to the front cover and to Yuki's elusive expression. Yuki didn't actually look like he enjoyed whatever his seme asked of him. The blond also didn't look like he was a 'Yuki', nothing so demure, distant or so cold as the name implied. No doubt the name had been changed to be more marketable. Tatsumi judged that the 'biography' as such had to be creative license, and that made him feel disappointed and awkward.

The rest of the magazine was text-free, a series of photographs in which the blond stripped himself of his loose white shirt, laid down upon a bed to wriggle out of his tight black pants-- stopping mid-way to caress himself in a way that seemed to have his own pleasure as much if not more in mind than the camera's. There was a colour centrefold, which indicated that the blond's pubic hair was a reddish gold and that his penis flushed very pink. Once he was nude, the blond continued to caress himself, even going so far as to caress himself internally with the fingers of one hand, while his other hand maintained his erection. He seemed surprisingly comfortable, despite the contortions such caresses required of him.

For a series of still photographs in blurred black and white, they were disturbingly arousing. Tatsumi spent longest returning to the front cover to be able to gloss the other images with colour, one hand turning the pages, the other massaging his crotch without much conscious thought.

When Tatsumi's arousal became urgent, he put the magazine aside, unzipped his fly and removed his jacket and trousers, as they were dry-clean only. Tatsumi closed his eyes and took himself in hand, trying to imagine that the blond was actually stripping in front of him, that his internal caresses were but preparation for Tatsumi's entry.

The first time he imagined the blond saying his name, it sounded uncomfortably insecure. When Tatsumi managed to forget that, he noticed that in his imagination the blond looked more timorous than he had in the magazine. Tatsumi persevered; the friction felt good, however awkward he found the edges of his mental imaginings. When Tatsumi got close, however, he noticed that the blond's eyes had somehow become tearful-- and violet, instead of golden-brown. The shock wilted him completely.

Tatsumi was so inexperienced in the ways of love. Tsuzuki-san seemed to find comfort in Tatsumi's presence, in the incidental touches his affection prompted, but Tatsumi’s own desires continued to twist his understanding of Tsuzuki-san’s acceptance. Tatsumi still remembered the night when Tsuzuki-san had seemed to agree to the comfort of Tatsumi’s body. Afterwards, Tatsumi had discovered that Tsuzuki-san had been crying, silently, throughout an act that had clearly not been the love-making Tatsumi had supposed it to be.

Tatsumi removed his glasses to clean them, thinking bitterly he should have bought a video, or perhaps a prostitute. The blond's confidence now seemed to mock him. Tatsumi's own imagination was too poor to extend anything of mutual enjoyment.

Tatsumi decided to leave the hotel to find his evening meal; it was now past seven o'clock. Perhaps if could clear his mind an alternate plan would suggest itself.

\---

The blond lived in a typically furnished student apartment, in so far as Tatsumi was familiar with their type. Bookshelves and boxes filled what space the desk and bed did not. Embarrassingly, the bed had been most of Tatsumi's interest.

"Who are you?"

Tatsumi froze, mid-stroke. He had left the shadows once it became apparent the blond was not present, but he had permitted himself to become distracted since then. He could make no move to cover himself without occasioning further embarrassment. His clothes were a neatly folded pile beside the bed.

Tatsumi turned his head to the side to answer, but kept his eyes shut. He'd removed his glasses earlier for ease of movement without realising how vulnerable he was without them.

"Did you know you're blushing, Tatsumi Seiichirou? Oh, that's too formal for a guy with his own fingers up his ass. Who told you to stop, Seii-chan?"

Kneeling, bent over on the bed, it would be obvious Tatsumi had decided to imitate the blond's magazine spread. Getting caught had not been part of the plan, though it seemed to have no obvious effect on his arousal. The blond's gaze seemed warm and, though Tatsumi might flatter himself, appreciative. Tatsumi resumed the movement of his hands.

"Better."

Tatsumi heard himself groan in response. As the blond refrained from comment, Tatsumi had no idea in what light he appeared, positive or negative. To Tatsumi's intensely short vision, his penis was a blur concealed by his fist's motion and the shadow of his body.

"Harder."

He wondered if his actions were affecting the blond as much as they were surely affecting him. If the blond were stroking himself, with a steadier rhythm than Tatsumi was capable. If, soon, Tatsumi might feel the blond's hand on his left wrist, pulling it away--

"Oh, I'm bigger than just two fingers."

Taking the information under advisement, Tatsumi took a deep breath and carefully adjusted his approach. A small part of himself was aware of how unlike himself his actions were, but the rest only knew how good it felt. Tatsumi felt possessed. He felt cut free and out of control, stretched thin and enfolded in the warmth of his watcher's encouraging gaze.

"Good boy, Seiichirou." The blond's voice was soft, almost affectionate, a whisper above his ear. "My name is..."

Tatsumi came, surprising himself with a cry that drowned out everything else completely.

He removed his hands from his person, rolled onto his side to stretch out his legs, and rested in his pleasure. He was still flushed, as much from embarrassment as from his exertions. It was strange and almost comical that such a scenario would appeal. It had certainly been different-- and effective. Tatsumi was unaccustomed to so vocal a response from himself.

When he caught himself drifting from rest towards sleep, Tatsumi forced himself to sit up. He wiped his hands and his body with the towel he had placed on the bed. Reaching his hand across the bedside table, he found his glasses and replaced them on his face. His hotel room came sharply into focus.

Tatsumi was, of course, alone.

He showered, this time with warm water, and retired to bed. Tatsumi woke no earlier than his usual five o'clock and even then, his body was warm and lethargic enough to tempt him to further rest. He did not remember his dreams.

Tatsumi had not been used so thoroughly in years, indeed, since before his death. His preternatural body had healed during the night, leaving him with an inexplicable unease. The night before seemed a surreal dream, but when he checked, the magazine was still inside his briefcase.

Tatsumi skipped breakfast.

He was in the shadows of the alleyway by the pornography store more than fifteen minutes before it was due to open, to seek a refund. Between his visits, a large charred mess had appeared in the centre of the street.

He waited five minutes after the shop assistant entered the shop before following himself. The shop assistant was excited to see him. He proceeded to pour out the sordid conclusion to his first, and he stressed last, attempt at self-publication.

Some time after Tatsumi left the shop the previous day, the blond had arrived in fury. (The shop assistant described the blond's 'wildness' at length. His furtive glances towards the shop’s entrance told Tatsumi that the experience had likely lacked so sexual a gloss the day before.)

The blond had not been reimbursed for his time and image, or in fact, informed as to the use the pictures would be put. His unique expression was then explained; the photographer had been his lover.

The blond had demanded-- and the boy related sulkily, received-- all remaining copies of the magazine, the originals and his solemn promise never to abuse a photocopier in a similar fashion again. The blond had also forced the boy to assist him in building a pyre of the materials in a nearby alleyway, which he then set fire to, with great relish.

Tatsumi saw the opportunity to ask for the blond's real name, but refrained. The blond did possess as commanding a personality as Tatsumi had imagined. It was good to have proof such men existed, even if this example was beyond him. Tatsumi's fantasy had been just that; he could not ignore that in reality, he had become no one's lover, only accessory to another lover's betrayal.

The shop assistant offered to buy back Tatsumi's copy, raising his price to more than twice Tatsumi had paid for it. And then, he changed his tune, asking if he could photocopy the pictures-- for personal use only, he stressed, glancing again to the door.

Tatsumi bought a disposable cigarette lighter, the cheapest item he could find, and left the store.

The charred patch on the street had new meaning. The magazine seemed flimsy in daylight, thin and deceptively innocuous. Everything Tatsumi had learnt that morning only added to his disgust at his actions the night before-- and yet, he could not put light to the pages. The photographs captured beauty and trust, good memories even if nothing good had come after.

After five minutes' contemplation, Tatsumi deemed himself irrational and hopeless. He sunk into shadow, falling through into the hallway of his own house in Meifu. Slipping off his shoes, he took his briefcase into his home office, a converted bedroom.

At the back of the closet, there were cardboard storage boxes marked 'Personal Tax Records'. Each box was marked with the appropriate years and filled with appropriately marked folders. Tatsumi slipped the magazine into one of the folders about halfway through the fifties. He then replaced the lid and returned the box to its original position.

Tatsumi's kitchen clock read thirty minutes past nine o'clock in the morning. He set his briefcase on his dining room table and opened it. After the kettle boiled, he placed one mug of tea and one of instant miso down on the table. Sipping from his breakfast, Tatsumi began to set out on a loose, ruled page of notepaper what would become his necessary contributions to Kirigoe-san's case notes.

 _Sakimura Yuusuke left the mortal plane for his rightful spiritual existence at sixteen minutes past three o'clock in the afternoon..._


End file.
